The Messes of Men
by ProfessorSquirrell
Summary: "I wonder what it's like," she says... A drabble collection. Various pairings. 394 words each. Most recent... Rodolphus/Narcissa
1. BellatrixSeverus

_A/N: This is going to be a collection of drabbles featuring various pairings for different challenges/competitions on HPFC. All drabbles will be 394 words exactly because... I said so. ;) The characters aren't mine; I just play with them._

* * *

The afternoon sun peeks through the curtains of Severus' dingy flat, and he throws his arm over his face, his elbow an effective barrier between him and his bedmate. Bellatrix isn't the sort of woman one would want to be pressed against. She's all sharp angles, usually hidden beneath billowing robes that are currently in a heap on his floor.

"You're bleeding," she observes, her thumb wiping a small cut on his chest.

"An apology would be nice," he says, for it's her doing. He is all too familiar with the bite of her fingernails against his skin and the way they leave comet trails of pink across the pale canvas of his chest.

"You like it though," she says lazily.

He supposes this is true. _A glutton for punishment_ , she'd called him once. _A true masochist._

"We ought to have kept working," Severus says, attempting to change the subject. "You feel too much."

Bellatrix rolls her eyes, getting up to reach for her robes.

"I mean it," Severus continues, sitting up. "You haven't been practicing. I can tell. Occlumency takes discipline. It's about time you learned some discipline instead of dishing it out on me."

"You've seen enough already," she says stormily. "I have a mind to stop coming 'round. You just want more things to use against me. It's sick the way you do that. I bet you don't want to teach me anything."

"And all you want to do is fuck," he retorts.

He's on his feet now, and she comes to stand before him. She is his equal in height and they are practically nose to nose. Her breath is hot on his cheek and he wants to turn away in disgust but he isn't one to back down. It's what keeps her coming back. She likes the challenge.

"I wonder what it's like," she says after a few moments and reaches out to trace the wound she inflicted earlier with her finger. "I wonder what it's like to not feel. To be like you. To be so... _heartless_."

He closes his eyes, hears her laugh on her way out the door, and it makes his skin crawl. He wishes it were possible to truly not feel, to not know the shame and humiliation of being called heartless by Bellatrix Lestrange of all people.

But Merlin knows he deserves it.


	2. BillFleur

_A/N: For the Variety Drabble Challenge on HPFC. Again, 394 words exactly. Don't usually do canon couples, but I couldn't get this scene out of my head. Not sure if it reads like what I imagined but.. oh well._

* * *

Bill's eyes flutter open and it takes a moment for him to realize that he's alone. The other side of the bed is already made, the sun is just beginning to shine through the sheer blue curtains, and for a house full of people he is sure that it is entirely too quiet.

He groans, stretching across the empty bed before getting up, and pulling the curtains to the side. He can just make out Fleur's form in the distance, sitting in the sand and hugging her knees. He grabs an extra blanket and tiptoes out of the house, mindful of the sleeping teenagers in the other rooms.

He makes his way over to her favorite spot on the beach where she sits staring out over the water. He wraps the blanket around her grateful shoulders before plopping down beside her.

They sit in comfortable silence, the tempo of the waves hissing over the sand almost lulling them back to sleep, until finally she rests her head on his shoulder and says, "I don't like it. 'Arry and Ron and 'Ermione... Zey are up to something foolish."

He presses a kiss to her hair. "I don't like it either. We can't make them stay though."

"I know." She sticks out her bottom lip. "I still don't like it."

He twists his wedding band around his finger for the sake of having something to do with his hands. He's still not quite used to wearing it. And as he looks at it, the words come bubbling up before he can stop himself.

"I won't make you stay either," he says. "If you want to go back to France."

She stiffens at his words and he scrambles to clarify himself. "Just until it's all over, that is. I wouldn't blame you. You could be with your family."

She turns and rises up onto her knees, her eyes flashing dangerously. She jabs a finger into his chest, almost pushing him back into the sand, and he recognizes the way her English gets caught in her throat when she opens her mouth to speak. " _You_ are my family now, Bill Weasley. For better or worse. Don't be an idiot."

With that, she storms back into the house and slams the door.

Bill sighs and hangs his head before getting up to follow her. "I really am an idiot."


	3. CharlieHermione

_A/N: For the Pairing the Character- Drabble Competition (WEEK 5: Hermione Granger)_

* * *

Warm.

That's it. Hermione has spent quite a few minutes looking for the proper adjective to describe Charlie Weasley, and as she stands in the Weasley's kitchen, stealing some precious time alone with him, she revels in it, the warmth of him.

Comforting, all consuming, warmth. Like sitting by the fire in the Gryffindor common room. Or like the way butterbeer feels in your bones after coming in from the snow. It's so much more satisfying than the blue flames she conjured for so many months on the run. It feels like home.

She feels him sigh, his chest rising and falling with her head pressed against it.

"Can I tell you a secret?" he murmurs into her hair.

"What's that?" she asks.

He cranes his neck to look all around, ensuring that no one is around to hear, before resting his head against hers once more.

"I have half a mind to miss my Portkey back to Romania in the morning," he whispers.

"Oh?"

She pulls away to look up at him. There's a mischievous glint in his eye that reminds her of Fred and George and it almost makes her laugh. There are so many things that are new and yet so _familiar_ about him.

"Just for a few days," he says. "I don't think I'm ready to leave quite yet."

Hermione blushes no matter how hard she tries not to. "I have a friend at the Portkey office who could probably change it for you," she offers.

He nods. "That would help. But here's the thing. I've already said goodbye to Mum and Dad. Would be a shame to put them through that _again_."

Hermione takes the hint and blushes even deeper, but does not look away.

"Well, no one said you have to stay _here_. Then they'd never know."

"This is true, but I don't want to stay where I'm not invited," he says, cupping her face in his hands, and he's so close now, the little details of him, coming into focus. The dusting of freckles on his nose, the faint scar over his left eyebrow, the dark blue of his irises… she's practically a puddle on the floor, but he cuts in before she can say anything more. "It's okay to say no."

"But… I don't want to."

He grins, finally bending down to kiss her tenderly.

"Good."


	4. PercyOliver

_For the Variety Drabble Challenge and for the Percy Weasley Competition 3_

* * *

Percy sits back in his chair at his desk, a smirk playing about his lips and his eyes following the movements of Oliver's hands. Or at least… he tries to follow them. And it's not as if it matters because he only partly understands what Oliver is trying to tell him about the weight of the Quaffle and the speed of each model of broomstick on the team and the significance of wind patterns.

Oliver knows this, and yet, he continues on and on, pacing the dormitory and talking with his hands in a way that is nothing short of mesmerizing. Percy can't look away. Oliver holds up one hand in the shape of an O to signify a goal post and the other hand is contorted so his fingers are pointing in odd directions and Percy knows he is supposed to pretend they're really Quidditch players flying through the air.

"You see," Oliver explains, "Angelina rides a Comet but she doesn't take advantage of the tailspin while Alicia does this thing where-"

Oliver does not get to finish his thought as Percy crosses the room in a few strides, cups his boyfriend's face in his hands, and kisses him hard.

Oliver's hands flail in confusion before they catch up with the change in conversation, and Percy is glad that Oliver doesn't need to talk with his mouth to still talk with his hands. They travel up his arms before finding purchase in Percy's red, curly hair, desperately pulling him closer.

It's a few moments later before they break apart for air. Oliver rests his forehead against Percy's, while his hands move elsewhere now. They trace their way down Percy's jaw line, his fingers touching his swollen bottom lip, before loosening the Gryffindor tie and splaying across his heaving chest.

"You always do that," Oliver says.

Percy shrugs. "Couldn't help myself. Now…" He holds up his own hand to make an imaginary goalpost. "What were you saying?"

Oliver tries to regain his composure and mumbles something about Alicia and the Comet 260 versus the Cleansweep series, but he finds that he's lost his train of thought and with Percy Weasley in such close proximity he's not very eager to find it again.

"You know what?" Oliver says, tangling his fingers with Percy's. "Let's just talk about it later."

Percy smiles and kisses him again.


	5. SiriusRemus

_A/N: For the Variety Drabble Challenge and for Amber's Pack a Punch Drabble Competition in which I attempt to "make her cry" with the prompt: late._

 _Also, I've tried very hard to not use second person thus far because that tends to be my default, but it's angst and Wolfstar and I couldn't help myself. Sorry, not sorry._

* * *

You both sit on the floor of the parlour in Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, over a decade of misunderstanding and confusion and regret settling between you like the dust that has collected on the carpet, and this is so much more difficult than you thought it would be.

The fire dances across Remus' face. It's a much older face than you remember, littered with scars and lines and creases. Evidence of stories you should have been a part of but you were… busy.

You haven't had the heart to inspect your own reflection, and you wonder what he sees there. You wonder if he can see Azkaban in your eyes, hear the Dementors in your voice, sense the chill that still rattles your bones.

The silence between you grows thicker, and the crackle of the fire in the grate becomes almost deafening, mocking you. Instead of finding comfort in the warm glow, you are painfully aware of how much space is between you and Remus where once there would be joking and laughter and understanding.

He smiles sadly, and you know he notices it too, and then he starts talking, beginning the conversation that you never got to properly have before and while you hope it will help alleviate the awkwardness, it still hurts. Merlin, it hurts. There's something about the way he says _I'm sorry_ that breaks your heart. He repeats it, the syllables running together, his tongue getting caught on all the reasons _why_. He's still always stuck on the _why_ of everything. In spite of it all, it makes you smile even while everything inside you crumbles.

"I'm sorry I didn't trust you," he finally says.

"You had no reason to."

"I loved you. That's reason enough."

 _Loved._ The past tense of the word stings, though you shouldn't be surprised. And part of you, the very selfish part of you, wants to ask him if he could ever love you again. If he would just try. If he could just assure you that it isn't too late, that twelve years isn't too late.

But the words well up and get caught, and you force yourself to swallow them down because now is not the time. You tell yourself that it's not too late. It's just too soon. That's all. Too soon.

So instead you nod and say, "I loved you too."


	6. PeterRegulus

_A/N: For the Variety Drabble Challenge and for Pairing the Character- Drabble Competition [WEEK 6: Regulus Black]_

* * *

"You can't please everyone, Pete," Regulus says.

And Peter knows all too well that he's right. But damn it he's going to try anyway. He can't help it. It's his fatal flaw. He can practically hear his time in this war ticking away and running out and he's spent weeks scurrying from one side to another that he's not even sure what he's doing anymore. All he knows is that one of these days, his need to please everyone is going to get him caught or killed or something much, much uglier.

He sits next to Regulus on a park bench in Muggle London and leans his head against his shoulder. It's their favorite place to escape. It's nice to not be recognized or worried about. It's nice to just watch people go about their lives completely oblivious to the havoc being wrought all around them. The Dementors have created a gloomy mist all over town and the Muggles just shrug it off as weird weather. The fools.

Peter breathes deeply, inhaling the scent of Regulus and cigarettes and cologne and something that reminds him of Sirius, and the guilt washes over him in waves, but it's not enough to make him loyal. It's not enough to tear him away from the man next to him.

Because Regulus looks at Peter like no one has before. Those grey eyes glow silver and they give him his undivided attention and they don't look away when Peter stumbles over his words. Words like _wish_ and _want_ and _love._

And Peter wants to be better than this. He wants to believe he can come out of this with some last shred of dignity, but Regulus keeps pulling him back in, whispering promises and begging him to stay a little longer, seducing him into a life of sneaking around that is more thrilling than any night with the Marauders ever was.

"You can't please everyone, Pete," Regulus says again, breaking their comfortable silence. He lazily throws an arm around Peter's shoulder and kisses his forehead. "If you could go anywhere," he continues," and if you could do anything… anything at all. What would it be?"

Peter looks up at him, and for a moment the world stops and it's just the two of them wrapped in a misty cloud. He takes Regulus' hand in his and whispers, "This."


	7. PeterLily

_A/N: For the Variety Drabble Challenge and for Pairing the Character- Drabble Competition [Week 7: Peter Pettigrew]_

* * *

Peter looks around the Three Broomsticks, drumming his fingers on the table near the window. The others are late. Granted they're usually late to everything, but today they are exceptionally late and Peter doesn't want to waste his Hogsmeade weekend saving a table when he could be out doing something else.

But just as he contemplates giving the table up and heading over to Zonko's, he sees them. Rather, he sees _her_. She is waves of red hair and freckles dusting her cheeks and a sweater hanging loosely off her shoulder. All he can seem to focus his gaze on is the way James has found that patch of skin and is gently caressing it with his fingertips. The pang of jealousy hits Peter square in the stomach and he hates it.

As they approach him, he shakes his head and tries to look at something else, anything else. But then he hears her voice.

"Hi, Wormy," she says brightly, sliding into the booth across from him. "Thanks for saving a seat."

Peter feels his cheeks redden at the pet name she's adopted for him. "Right," he says. "No problem."

James leaves them to order drinks and his tongue practically ties itself in knots.

Lily, though, is so generous. She smiles at him kindly, pretends not to notice his discomfort and she talks enough for the both of them. Tells him Remus and Sirius are taking a detour over to the Shrieking Shack. "Merlin knows why," she says, rolling her eyes. "If you've seen it once, you've seen enough, am I right?"

"Right," Peter agrees. "Totally."

"They tried to get me to go along, but I said I'd much rather come inside. You've got the right idea, Wormy. It's cozy in here."

"It is," he says. "I'm glad you came in."

He begins to say something unremarkable about the last Quidditch game and the way Ravenclaw should have beat Hufflepuff by more points, but then James is back, and his hand has found that spot again. Peter watches Lily smile and give James a knowing sideways glance, and normally, Peter would be content to live vicariously through James Potter, but this is definitely not the same.

"You all right, mate?" James asks, seeing how quiet he is.

"Oh, yeah," Peter lies. "I'm fine."


	8. GabrielleTeddy

_A/N: For the Variety Drabble Challenge and Pairing the Character- Drabble Competition [WEEK 8: Gabrielle Delacour]_

* * *

Teddy meets Gabby's eye from across Bill and Fleur's crowded living room, a sea of younger Weasleys and Potters separating them. For all the obstacles he has to avoid before getting her alone, she might as well still be in France. It's been two months since he's seen her, but all he managed was a lingering peck on her cheek in greeting before letting Percy's girls have her attention.

But now everyone has settled and she smiles at him and winks. Her fingers absentmindedly trail along her collarbone while she surveys the room. And as soon as she perceives that Fleur has looked away, Gabby nods her head every so slightly toward the guest bedroom.

In the blink of an eye she is gone and Teddy follows her lead, careful to not attract any attention and as soon as he slips into the next room, she closes it behind him with a click.

"Just a few moments," she says, then melts into his embrace, a giggle escaping her throat as his lips find her collarbone to follow the path her fingers had shown him earlier.

"I've missed you," Teddy says. "Missed this."

He kisses her mouth and holds her tighter, backing up until he can sit on the edge of the bed, pulling her onto his lap.

"Don't get too eager," she warns, running her fingers through his hair that has turned a shade of blue that matches her eyes. "You'll get us caught."

"You like eager though," he reminds her, grinning mischievously.

"I know I do." She sighs, giving in to just one more moment of his attentions. His fingers wander boldly and she finally grasps at his collar when they come in contact with the skin of her thigh beneath her skirt. "Teddy, dear, they won't understand."

Teddy slumps in disappointment and presses his forehead against her shoulder. "Okay."

"Later," she promises, getting up.

"Okay."

"Now come, before someone notices we're gone."

She moves to lead the way out the door but not before he presses her against it for one last kiss. She begins to scold him playfully, but he holds up his hands in defeat.

"Okay, okay," he says. "I'm done."

But as he passes her in the hallway he makes sure to whisper in her ear. "For now."


	9. RonHermione

_A/N: For the Variety Drabble Challenge but more importantly, for Ash._

* * *

"Come on," Ron says quietly, taking his wife's hand as the Hogwarts Express rounds the corner and disappears. "Let's go."

Hermione hesitates for a moment but then gives him a watery smile and nods in agreement. They turn and vanish from the Platform, clinging to each other as they aim for home until with a _pop!_ they appear in their living room.

"Finally!" Ron says, collapsing onto the couch and fixing his hair that is now windswept from travelling.

"Ron!" Hermione scolds. "You'd think you didn't like your children the way you're so eager to get rid of them."

"Oh, you know that's not true."

He gestures for her to take a seat beside him, noting the way her lip is quivering in spite of herself. She gives him a dirty look complete with arms crossed, but she gives in and it's not long after he puts his arm around her shoulder that she relaxes against him.

"It's just so hard to see them go. It's Hugo's first year. You remember how hard it is to be a first year, don't you?"

Ron chuckles. "Oh, yeah. It's very hard. Barely got any studying done, what with the trolls and the three headed dogs and _setting teachers on fire_..."

"Be serious."

"I _am_ serious. Merlin, Hogwarts must be so boring now without us."

Hermione grins. "You're right," she admits. She surveys the living room and makes a face at what a thorough mess Rose and Hugo have made of it with their toys and books and clothes they decided not to pack. "I suppose now that they're gone I should clean this place up. Mum would have a fit if she saw this."

Ron shakes his head and pulls her down to lay horizontally on the couch. "Let's not talk about your mum right now," he says. "I can think of something _much_ better we could be doing in the living room of our now _child-free_ house."

Hermione laughs. " _That's_ what you were so eager to get home for?"

Ron shrugs. "Not really, but we _can_ so I think we owe it to ourselves, don't you think?"

She laughs again and nods in agreement, her fingers fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. She can clean tomorrow.


	10. CharlieKatie

_A/N: For the Variety Drabble Challenge and Pairing the Character- Drabble Competition [WEEK 9: Charlie Weasley]_

* * *

Katie circled around Charlie on her broomstick, her hair becoming tangled in the wind and her face bright with exhilaration that could only be caused by a rousing game of Quidditch. Sure, it was only a fun scrimmage in the Weasleys' backyard, but between the Weasley siblings and their significant others there was plenty of talent to go around and the competition was fierce.

"That's the best you've got?" Katie teased bouncing the Quaffle from one hand to the other. Charlie caught up to her and crossed his arms, taking the moment to admire her enthusiasm. He'd forgotten how much he loved Quidditch.

Katie continued. "I thought you were supposed to be _so_ good. 'Could have played for England' and all that rubbish?"

"Hey," Charlie said defensively, trying to catch his breath. "I was a Seeker in school, remember? It's been a while since I've played Chaser. Give me a break!"

Katie laughed. "You ought to know by now I don't give anyone a break."

"Oi!" George called from several yards away. "What are you lovebirds doing? Game's not over yet!"

Charlie sent a rude hand gesture his brother's way and pulled his broomstick up next to his girlfriend's, settling a hand on her waist to pull her closer.

"You'll pay for that remark," he teased.

Katie merely grinned. "Believe me I'm counting on it."

She tossed the Quaffle up to Angelina as she passed over them, a maneuver they'd practiced and perfected for years at Hogwarts.

They heard George yelling more obscenities at Charlie for allowing the girls to gain another point, but neither of them cared. Somehow the game was forgotten in a whirlwind of broomsticks and laughter and Katie's hair flying in Charlie's face until they'd flown low to the ground and wrestled each other off their broomsticks all together.

Katie flopped onto the ground, struggling to catch her breath and giggled as Charlie crawled to hover over her.

"Charlie, what about the game?"

"You know you girls were going to beat us anyway."

"That's very true," Katie conceded.

"So how about we just skip the part where you humiliate me on the Quidditch pitch and we go celebrate?"

Katie propped herself up on her elbows to kiss him. "I like that idea," she whispered.


	11. RodolphusNarcissa

_A/N: For the Variety Drabble Challenge and Pairing the Character- Drabble Competition [WEEK 10: Narcissa Malfoy]_

* * *

Narcissa sits in an armchair by the fire in the library, the one place in the Manor that she can find some solitude. Death Eaters have laid waste to the rest of the house, but Lucius made sure from the beginning that she won't be bothered here. It was the very least he could do, she thinks bitterly. The fact that he let them in their house at all still makes her skin crawl.

She pulls her legs up to hug her knees, closing her eyes, willing herself to feel tired enough to go back to bed. It's late and everyone else is sleeping and she doesn't think she'll be able to hold herself together tomorrow if she doesn't get some rest.

The sound of the door creaking open sends a chill down her spine and she freezes, caught between the desire to shrink even further into the chair or stand up and send whoever it is away. But then she hears her name, soft and unsure, not Lucius but not unwelcome either.

"Narcissa," Rodolphus says again, peeking his head in. "Are you still awake?"

"Yes," she whispers. "Do come in, Rodolphus, and close the door."

He nods and dutifully follows her directions, approaching quietly, bare feet padding on the thick carpet. He pulls up another arm chair close to hers, and she studies him. It's the first time she's had an opportunity to get him alone, and the man before her now is not the Rodolphus she remembers.

He is thin. Too thin. And everything about him seems haunted and it breaks her heart. The eyes that used to make her melt with just a look appear lifeless. The hands that used to hold hers shake and his fingers grasp at the arm rests to steady them but it's no use.

"You look terrible," Narcissa says.

Rodolphus cracks a smile. "I'm sure I do," he says. "But you look lovely, as always."

"Thank you."

"I wish I could have deserved you."

His voice cracks like the log in the fire as it collapses. Sparks fly upward and the sizzling sound it creates fills the silence that falls between them. They are two strangers now, but strangers who knew each other very well once upon a time. And for the first time, Narcissa lets the tears she's been holding back flow down her cheeks.


	12. FrankAlice

_A/N: For the Can You Make It To The End Challenge. Round One. Write a drabble about Frank Longbottom_

* * *

"I knew it!" Alice exclaims as she storms into the kitchen and fumbles around in the cupboard. Frank follows, rubbing the back of his neck and loosening his tie.

"Knew what, dear?" he asks.

Alice finally finds what she's looking for and pulls out an unnecessarily large wine glass from the depths of the cupboard. She waves it around above her head, breathless and pink in the face.

"She hates me!" she exclaims. "I knew she'd hate me. Just knew it. Can't believe I made it through dinner… such a bumbling idiot. Merlin!"

She looks frantically about the kitchen for the emergency wine. One of the first rules of Alice's kitchen after no dirty dishes in the sink is to always have an emergency bottle of wine. Frank finds himself restocking it a bit more often than he had counted on. There have been several discussions between them debating what constitutes an emergency but no clear definitions have ever been agreed upon.

And yes, his mother hating his girlfriend would certainly be an emergency. However…

"She doesn't hate you," Frank protests. "That's the nicest she's been to anyone that I've brought over, actually. Friend or otherwise."

"Oh, you're just saying that," Alice says. She twirls her wand in her fingers, expertly uncorking the bottle with a handy spell she learned in sixth year. Frank admires her determination and dexterity in her flustered state.

"Seriously though, love," he says as she pours herself a generous glass. "If she didn't like you she would have said so to your face. My mother is not one to spare anyone's feelings."

Alice takes two large sips of her wine before setting it down on the counter and folding her arms across her chest. She taps her foot anxiously, takes another sip of wine, taps some more and sighs.

"Are you sure?"

"Completely sure," Frank says grinning. He gets up and crosses the room to put two comforting hands on her shoulders. "Trust me. My mother liked you."

"Okay," Alice says, nodding her head. She raises the glass to her lips once more. "Okay."

"You know what else?" Frank asks.

"What?"

" _I_ definitely like you."

Alice smiles and leans up to kiss him and it tastes like an emergency. It's warm and unapologetic and bites at his lower lip with a sense of blissful urgency. It tastes like Alice.


End file.
